


the winner takes it all

by theviolonist



Category: The Good Wife (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 07:27:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theviolonist/pseuds/theviolonist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meeting Alicia in parking-lots late at night, complete with the sharp clicking of her heels on the concrete, almost makes Cary wish he would fall in love with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the winner takes it all

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zephyrprince](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zephyrprince/gifts).



i. 

This is what Cary Agos learns at Harvard: a well-pressed Italian suit does more for you than any sort of good intentions, delicately worded or not. He also learns that words can cut like knives, that you should never turn your back to anyone, and that private affairs are always better kept private. 

The only surprise he finds at the corner of the dusty library stacks, notwithstanding a couple of pleasant encounters - sentenced by the Penal Code, if its lack of reprimand is anything to go by -, is his love for the law. Following his father's tracks was a given, but he didn't expect to find in himself such a passion for the righting of wrongs (though of course, a career as the champion of the poor is far from what he has in mind; above all he's fascinated by the intricacies of the law, the loopholes so curled around themselves that they bite their own tail).

 _Fashion yourself in my image,_ said his father, or maybe it was his priest, about God - the point being, Cary has never been one to defy orders. If there is rebellion in him, it's not the outspoken kind - but rather, as he'll later learn, the Chicago grime, the sniveling and insidious disagreement capable of working steel down to rust. And so he does: from hapless cherub he becomes a sharp-eyed young lawyer, and when he finally boards his plane for the windy city he feels like he has all the cards in hand. 

Of course, that's before he meets Alicia Florrick. 

 

ii.

Love is a weakness, and if Cary had a dime for every time someone whispered this to him from the corner of their mouths in lieu of advice, he'd be a millionaire. It's not like he doesn't know it - the ghost of Rory Gilmore and his failed engagement is alive and well in his memory - but he smiles and nods nevertheless, since the rule of the game is to always pretend you don't know while you're sharpening your weapons.

Lockart Gardner - far from the haven he shouldn't have expected, that anthill is filled with scorpions: Diane, whose cruelty is as unexpected as her kindness; Will, lean and charming and devoid of morals; and Alicia, saint Alicia, smarter than she looks and more vicious that she'd want everyone to believe.

During the first year, and his subsequent stint as an employee of the government, he almost makes it an habit to meet Kalinda - no adjectives required - for a drink when night extends its cover. For some reason, perhaps his ill-advised affection for her, she's gentler with him than she is with most people.

"Drowning your sorrows?" she asks him one evening, her eyes black and blank, nodding at his tumbler of bourbon. 

"Not really." He smiles from the corner of his mouth, incapable to keep it in. "Want to join?"

She doesn't answer, but slides onto the stool anyway, the leather of her jacket rustling slightly when she moves. It's that night he tells her about Rory, the first time seeing her, mousy and frowning, holding onto the strap of her messenger bag like it might run away any minute, and the last, grown-up and refusing to wear his ring on her finger. Kalinda doesn't express any sympathy. 

"Are you saying it made you better?" she asks at last, raising her glass to her lips; her throat moves when she swallows. 

He nods. "Of course. Now I'm an expert at pretending to believe in lost causes. Don't tell me you haven't noticed my naïve earnestness?"

It makes her crack a smile; she raises her glass for a toast. "Cheers."

She doesn't tell any tales in return, but he reads them anyway, in the tightness of her body and the red of her nail polish, stories with redacted names and whole chapters fed to the shredder. 

 

iii.

Meeting Alicia in parking-lots late at night, complete with the sharp clicking of her heels on the concrete, almost makes Cary wish he would fall in love with her. His father would laugh at him for that - say that he's always been a romantic, that he can't do business to save his life. It's untrue, of course; but then, not much his father thinks of him is true, even though it took Cary some time to realize this.

 _Make sure Will doesn't know_ , she says, she's a romantic too, and Cary does just that. There are some things you just can't conceal with furtive phone calls and oblique smiles, and some people you need to ensnare to make sure their ears don't wander. Besides, Cary's always had a thing for Will. Call it what you want, a fetish for authority or the strangely compelling shrewdness that Alicia mistakes for the sign of a tortured soul, the fact remains: Will Gardner is an easy prey when it comes to things of the flesh. 

Oh, yes. 

 

iv. 

_Have your fun,_ his father used to say, as he turned away from the particular brand of entertainment that was Cary's choice even then, _but always remember: you can't trust anyone._ Now Cary laughs at the paranoia, but he doesn't forget; he never forgets. After all, he can't help who he inherits from: his mother too had an iron spine, a permanent reminder that whatever you build must have strong foundations lest it crumbles when you lean your weight on it. 

Look at them now: Will opening the door to his apartment, with its wide near-empty rooms and high ceilings, pressing him against the door and trying to lose in him the memories of other, more painful lovers. Cary knows the feeling, which doesn't mean he pities Will; still, he pulls away to breathe, brushes his thumbs across the tight expanse of Will's jaw. 

"Slow down," he says, his eyes riveted in Will's, feeling his pulse beat strongly against his palms. "We have time."

That's a lie, of course. But then, what isn't? 

 

v. 

Betrayal. It always comes back to that, doesn't it? Who you choose and who you leave behind, whose hand you let go of, who you say no to, whose heart you pick to shatter. By now Cary must be immune to heartbreak: it's one thing to think you're bulletproof because you've never been shot, and quite another to heal from the wound and know better afterwards.

On his way to the elevator, he watches Will scream in Alicia's office, his face distorted with anger; he remembers Diane's icy disdain and the glares of his coworkers on his way out. Alicia's made good use of her years in the courts: her face betrays nothing, lashes down, hands curled on the arms of her chair; he couldn't want a better partner. The truth is, there's no parting without pain, and this instance won't be any different: Kalinda, Will, Diane, all of them. But they're prepared. What is it they say - you win some, you lose some? 

And they'll win, they will. They're not coming for the castle; they're coming for the kingdom.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, recipient! I'm so sorry, this is probably not what you wanted, but it's the best I could do. Hope you enjoy it anyway. Obviously I tweaked a few things, made Cary darker than he is on the show.


End file.
